Seven Days
by firewaterspaceairearth
Summary: 604800 seconds. 10080 minutes. 168 hours. 7 days. 1 week. It started with a forgotten anniversary. It ended in hospital. But seven days is all it took for things to change, badly, painfully, completely, permanently, hopefully.
1. Day One

_If you recognise it, it's not mine._

* * *

You'll wake up, and instantly want to go back to sleep. The sun shines through the window, birds are singing obnoxiously loudly, and you roll over and try not to cry. Today, your dad is going to try and make pancakes, try and be all kind and loving, but with a falsely cheery air. Together, you'll go and stand next to a cold grey stone with words etched into the smooth surface, and you'll lay down your bunches of flowers- roses. It's always roses, red ones. You wish they weren't red. Pink. Yellow. White. Not red, red looks like blood, and blood makes you think of the accident. Your dad will look at you and smile, unshed tears glimmering in his eyes, and he'll caress the stone. When you get home, he'll cook lasagna, but not in the same way that she used to. He tries so hard, every year, but he gets everything so slightly wrong. It's not his fault. He is remembering her as he knew her, not by all the secret little things she told you when you were young. And that's why the hugs don't feel right, the pasta and lasagna are tasteless, the roses force you to smell a coppery liquid splattering over your face. It's not his fault. But it's not right.

This year, it's different. When you wake up, instead of burnt pancakes you smell hot coffee. Instead of birds you hear loud rap music. You get up, make your way downstairs, dressed in black, just like you have every year since it happened. Your dad turns round from talking with Carole, and he's smiling. Finn wanders through, dragging a bag behind him. They all seem so happy. Your dad's talking about some football game you're all going to see, and suddenly your heart feels crushed to the size of a pinhead. There will be no gravestone, no pancakes, no roses, no lasagna today. Instead you're going to spend the day at a football game. A bitter taste fills your mouth, and you turn and walk out of the room. You pretend to feel ill, keeping your face turned to the pillow so nobody sees the tears smudging their way down your face, and they go without you. You go to the grave, leaving a small bundle of lavender and rosemary- her favourite perfumes. The grey stone looks barren and abandoned as you walk away, missing the bright splash of red roses. You spend the rest of the day drifting aimlessly, cleaning the house, singing softly, the sad old songs from when she sang to you as a young child. You make lasagna for everyone when they get back, but apparently Finn won his game and you're all going out to celebrate. You end up squashed into a booth at Breadstix, poking at a salad while Finn eagerly describes every footstep of the game. Your dad looks at you three times. Once to ask what you want to eat and the second to tell you to stop trying to interrupt Finn. The third time he turns bright pink, and tears well up in both your eyes. You nod slowly. He tries to apologise, but Finn bursts into the conversation, retelling one of the many sprints he made for the fifth time. Your dad shakes his head, but doesn't say anything. When you get home, you sit in your room, fingers running over the sole photo you have of her. She's laughing, holding your little hand. You deliberate over pointedly leaving the photo on your dad's pillow, but eventually fall asleep, caressing the worn frame. That was the beginning of the worst week ever.


	2. Day Two

_If you recognise it, it's not mine._

* * *

Sunday. Day of rest, supposedly. Certainly, all you want to do is crawl back under your covers and sleep for a hundred years. The rest of the family has other plans. Carole is cleaning the entire house, despite the fact that you did it all yesterday. Apparently there's a lot of work to be done at the garage. You don't mind too much at first. It'll be an opportunity for some time alone with your dad, and you like the solitude of some of the more complex problems. You agree, a sad smile tracing over your face. You need to confront your dad about missing the anniversary of her death yesterday. But then Finn speaks up, says that he's always wanted to learn about cars, and your dad offers to teach him. So you tug on some old jeans and a t-shirt and head out to the garage together. The place is pretty busy, so you take some of the drop-in clients while your dad teaches Finn with some of the cars which have been left for repair. Finn seems to be a quick learner, which annoys you, somehow. It's like he's slowly taking your place as a son. You've been feeling left out for a while now, and you know it's just jealously, but as you watch your dad explain what's gone wrong in the engine of a little convertible, you can't help but feel about a foot tall. The fact that you are currently working underneath one of the biggest pickup trucks you've ever seen doesn't help. Finn calls you over to check that he's fixed the engine right, and grudgingly, you admit that he's managed it. Happily, the big guy reaches up to tug the hood down again, but as you're still leaning over to look for any mistake, anywhere, just because you're being petty, the heavy metal catches you hard on the back of your head between your ears, knocking you forward painfully. You see stars. Finn apologises, but you brush it off, making your way back to the pickup and wheeling yourself under it. When you're finished, you tell yourself that the dark drips on the concrete floors are just leaked oil. You manage to finish over a third of the cars waiting, which gives you a sort of hollow feeling of satisfaction over Finn. By the evening, your head is aching, and you're pretty sure it's been bleeding all day, but you take a painful shower and restyle your hair before dinner. Good as new. You take a couple of painkillers when nobody's looking, and collapse into bed. You groan as your head hits the pillow, and turn on your side to look at the photo of your mother, stood on the table. You trace the outline of her face as a lone tear escapes your eye. Then you sleep.


	3. Day Three

_If you recognise it, it's not mine._

* * *

You wake up early, and shower, get dressed. Your head throbs, and you carefully brush your hair over the gash again. You slip a packet of painkillers into your bag. By the time you've finished your breakfast, everyone else is up. You sip coffee as Finn clatters around looking for his football kit. Eventually you drive to school, and Finn complains loudly about his girlfriend troubles. You're glad to escape, even if the first thing which happens is a cherry slushie straight in your face. You change your shirt, fix your hair, carry on. By the time Glee comes around, your head is burning, but it's another hour at least, maybe two, before you can take another painkiller. Mr Schuester heads to the front of the room, announcing another competition. Boys versus girls. You ask to go in the girls team. You get shot down. Mr Schue decides that the boys should sing traditionally female songs, and the girls should sing more masculine songs, as if it's some sort of consolation. One of the most stereotype based exercises you've ever been set, but you go along with it. The boys aren't impressed with your suggestions, and Puck tells you to check out the competition, as if you're worthless. Your head is killing you, but you're so frustrated that you drive over to Dalton anyway. Within ten minutes, you're lost in this huge place, swept along in a crowd of boys to a sweeping staircase. Asking somebody what's going on seems like the best plan, so you head towards a shorter guy with dark hair. He shows you to the performance everyone rushed off to see, and turns out to be the lead singer. You never thought that you'd hear Katy Perry being covered by an acapella group of boys in blazers, but the song works. The lead singer, Blaine, and two of his friends take you for coffee afterwards. They're friendly, enthusiastic. They don't beat you up for spying. In fact, they seem to find the whole thing funny. Blaine seems nice, genuinely caring, and he sends his friends away to talk to you about the bullying. He tells you to stand up to them, to have courage. You almost tell him how lonely you feel, but your head is pounding, and you need to get home. Dalton is actually pretty far away from McKinley, so there's a a lot of driving to do if you want to get home in time. You do exchange numbers, and Blaine walks you out to your car. You sink into the seat, and take another painkiller. By the time you get home, the pain is almost gone. Finn nags you about not giving him a lift home, and you feed him a few snippets about the Warblers to shut him up. You keep thinking of kind hazel eyes and dark, gelled down hair, a smart blazer. Dalton. It seemed like Hogwarts, that magical place, impossible to reach. You set Teenage Dream as your new ringtone. Then you skip dinner, even though it's Carole's amazing chicken curry, because all you want to do is lie down on your bed, and _sleep_. So you do.


	4. Day Four

_If you recognise it, it's not mine._

* * *

You barely open your eyes, and the pain in your head is so intense you nearly throw up. You swallow several pills dry and resolve to power through the day. For once you're actually happy for Finn to drive you to school. It's all downhill from the second Finn heads off to find Puck, of course. A gang of jocks corner you and throw you into the dumpster. Hard. You lie there, stunned, and a moment later, your bag flies into your face. Literally. So you scrabble amongst trash bags, cigarette ends, leftover food and other disgusting things you don't want to think about, until you've wiped your possessions as much as you can and repacked your bag. By the time you've shakily swung yourself out of the dumpster, the bell has already rung, and you're covered in gunk.

Between first and second period, you get shoved into lockers so often that you can still see stars as you sit down in French. By lunch, you've changed clothes twice and are still sitting in the sticky clothes from the third slushie attack of the day. You twisted your ankle when a particularly hard shove sent you sprawling on the floor, your back and shoulders ache, and to cap it all, you're pretty sure your head is bleeding again. You decide not to brave the cafeteria and instead hide out in the auditorium. Nobody disturbs you. It's just you and the throbbing pain at the back of your skull. You swallow your last two painkillers.

When the bell rings you wait a few minutes before standing to make your way to class. A jock walking in the opposite direction casually shoves you hard into the row of lockers. The bag of your head hits the metal with a clang, and you slide to the floor, dazed. You might have blacked out for a second. You're not sure.

Somehow you manage to stumble into class, five minutes late. You sit at the back. Casually, you reach up to the cut. You bite back a yelp at the twinge of pain, and another when your fingers come away tinged red.

Eventually the day finishes, but as you make your way over to the car a couple of jocks chuck you in the dumpster again. They debate over slamming the lid shut too, but it begins to rain. They leave and you lie there for a moment, fighting to stay conscious through a searing wall of pain. Finn leaves without you for some reason. By the time you get home, you're exhausted, and skip dinner, saying you had a big lunch. Gingerly, you pull off your boots, get into your pyjamas. Your ankle feels really bad now. You ignore it, falling onto your bed and slipping into a restless, painful sleep.


	5. Day Five

_If you recognise it, it's not mine._

* * *

You oversleep. By the time you drag yourself up, all you have time for is a quick glass of water. Your head seems to have stopped bleeding, but it hurts more than ever. Your ankle seems to be more than a simple twist, but you ignore it. You don't have any painkillers left. At school, you are cautious and wary, careful to avoid any malicious jocks bearing shoves or slushies. You skip lunch again, sitting alone in the auditorium. Blaine texts you halfway through, checking you're doing ok. You reply, adding a smiley face at the end. You don't mention your head, or your ankle, which has become slightly swollen since yesterday. He sends another text as you're walking to class. One word. _Courage._ Before you can answer, Karofsky shoves you hard, sending the phone spinning across the hallway. He's ten metres away by the time you clear the spots from your vision, but you chase after him. You follow him into a locker room, and stand up to him. He gets angry, begins to threaten you. Then you lose it, and shout stuff, you're not sure what, and he tells you not to push him. You draw breath for another comeback, and that's when it happens. He grabs your face with sweaty hands, fingers barely missing the cut on the back of your head. You try to stumble backwards, and he leans forward and kisses you. Your whole mind is screaming, and your head is throbbing, and your ankle feels like it could give out any second. Karofsky pulls back for a second before leaning in again, and your arms finally work, pushing him away as you back into the lockers. He slams a fist into the metal inches away from your head, and storms out. Your ankle finally gives, and you slide to the floor, tears streaming down your face.

You feel dirty, used, exhausted, but you struggle to your feet, shuffle to the sink, rinse out your mouth. Years of hiding bullying plus Sue Sylvester's insane cheerleader/ninja training means you can disguise your limp easily enough. By the end of the day, Karofsky has threatened to kill you if you tell anyone no fewer than seven times.

In Glee, both groups perform, and there's something going on with Coach Beiste which you know next to nothing about. You sing, keep up with the dance moves, and go home. Finn is at Puck's, or Rachel's maybe. Your dad and Carole are at work. The house is empty. You don't know if that's good or bad. Your phone rings. It's Blaine. You answer his cheerful questions in a quiet monotone, until he notices. He wants to know what's wrong. You shrug, though he can't see you, and mutter something about bullies, and he instantly becomes serious. He says he's skipping school tomorrow to come see you, and you're too frightened and in pain to stop him. He hangs up, telling you to hold on, have courage. He can't see the tears running down your face. You still feel sick from the feeling of Karofsky's lips on your own, so you don't eat. Again.

That night, you dream of hands reaching to grab you, to strangle you, and you jolt awake with a gasp of pain. Your phone is lit up with a text. Courage. You smile sadly. It's nearly an hour before you fall asleep again.


	6. Day Six

_If you recognise it, it's not mine._

* * *

You wake up to the scent of something coppery. Your pillow is stiff and slightly damp. You sit up and the world spins. When you can, you turn and see your pillowcase soaked with drying blood. Panicking, you stand up, grabbing your desk for support as your ankle burns with pain. Shakily, you strip the bed and shove the stained sheets underneath. Then you turn your attention to your injuries. Your ankle is definitely swollen, and twinges painfully with every staggered step. Your head is a different story. You manage to get a proper look at it for the first time in days, and your stomach drops. There is a huge, gaping gash across the back of your head. Your hair is matted with dried blood, and the back of your neck is stained as well. You close your eyes, take a deep breath. You definitely need stitches, and you've got no idea how bad your ankle is. After school, you tell yourself. After school you'll go to the hospital, and they'll sort everything. You'll have to shake off Blaine first- that could be a problem.

By the time you've taken an agonising shower, dragged on an outfit and hobbled downstairs, the rest of the family is there. They tell you that your dad and Carole are going on their honeymoon today, a fantastic opportunity right out of the blue. Finn's staying over at Puck's for the weekend, which leaves you alone in the house. But you smile, say you're happy, that you don't mind. Finn drives to school. He offers to walk you in, but you decline politely. He doesn't notice any trace of limp. Miraculously, the jocks are occupied tossing Jacob Ben Israel into the dumpster this morning, and you manage to slip past and into the school. There's a note on your locker. A death threat. It's not signed, but you can guess who it's from. As the day goes on, you find more notes. There's one in your book, your hair, stuck to your desk, your chair, your back. You try and laugh it off, but even smiling is becoming close to impossible these days.

Blaine arrives at lunchtime. He instantly takes your hand, leading you to a bench in the corner. You show him the notes, tell him why you've been recieving them. Because the biggest homophobe in the school kissed you. You don't mention your ankle, or your head. Blaine sits silently for several minutes, face morphing from concern to anger. He asks you who it was, and you point out the jock leaning against the wall by the steps. He jumps up and marches over to him, completely conspicuous in his dapper blazer. You follow more slowly, and reach the top of the stairs to find Blaine attempting to give advice and support to one of the biggest jocks in the school. Karofsky pins him to the wall, almost lifting him off the ground, and you stand up for your friend. You know your voice is climbing higher and higher in pitch, but you get your message across. After roughly shoving Blaine into you, Karofsky stomps away. You disguise your stumbling by sitting down on the steps heavily. Blaine sits next to you, rubbing his collarbone. He puts an arm round your shoulders, asks you what's wrong. You mumble something about first kisses, and he nods sympathetically.

But that's not everything, and you can barely speak to tell him the real problem, because right now your head hurts more than anything you've ever felt before, and your ankle feels like it will give out if you so much as twitch it. Blinking, you realise that you're suddenly dizzy, hot and cold shivers prickling over your body. Blaine stands up, offering to buy you lunch. You shakily follow him, but barely rise to your feet before the world's churning. Black spots dance in front of your eyes, and you double over, throwing up what little was in your stomach, arms flailing weakly for something to hold yourself up with. You miss. Blaine whips round, swearing under his breath. He grabs you round the waist, but by now your ankle has completely collapsed, and you pitch forward, black spots expanding. You hear Blaine screaming for help, smooth voice ragged and panicked, but it sounds far away. The black spots swallow your vision completely. You sleep.


	7. Day Seven

_If you recognise it, it's not mine._

* * *

You are woken up by a steadily repeated beep. You attempt to raise your head, but there's something holding your neck still, and your arms, and one leg is raised in some sort of sling. You open your mouth, meaning to ask where you are, what happened, but what comes out is closer to a whimper. Instantly, you feel somebody grip your hand tightly. Blaine's face slides into view, calling for a nurse. Nurse? You're in the hospital. Why are you in the hospital? Slowly, it begins to come back to you. The whole week, piling up on you. You try and sit up, but your restraints haven't been released.

Blaine's still talking, saying your name, asking for your dad's phone number. You croak it out, vaguely aware that there's a nurse bustling around you, unlocking your arms, raising your bed to a sitting position. Blaine's talking to you. You force yourself to listen. Random words drift through. Worried. Help. Phone. Dad. Phone. Awake. Hurt. Alright? You realise that he's asking you a question, and you nod your head. He seems satisfied. He passes you his phone, and you can hear your dad talking. He sounds panicked. You tell him not to worry, that you'll see him on Monday, that you're fine. Then you hang up, and cry. Blaine comforts you, this handsome, caring boy you only met a few days ago. Eventually you calm down, still wrapped in his arms. In a small voice, you ask what happened. He sighs, and tells you.

Apparently you threw up blood, passed out. He shouted for help until some guys came up. They carried you out, drove you to hospital, because he was shaking almost too badly to walk. When you got there, you were rushed straight in. They put stitches in your head, fixed your ankle up. Apparently it was badly sprained. Blaine's shaking again now, voice choked. You've been asleep for nearly a day. Blaine stayed, all night, waiting for you to wake up. His parents are away in Italy on business. They won't know. Or care.

You reach out an arm to him, wiping away the tears on his face, ask what's wrong. He sighs sadly, and he tells you about Sadie Hawkins. This time, you both cry. A nurse comes in again, checks the stitches in your head, takes your ankle off the sling. She tactfully passes Blaine a box of tissues, and tell him there's a shower at the end of the corridor. He nods, but doesn't let go of your hand. You tell him to go, but ask to borrow his phone to call Finn. He leaves. You ask the nurse when you can leave. She says they want to keep you in for another night, just in case. When you call Finn, he seems surprised to hear how sick you are. He says that he can pick you up tomorrow, and then your parents will be back the next day. You hang up just as Blaine comes back in, curls damp from the shower. He smiles at you, taking your hand again as you slip back into the pillow. He politely asks the nurse to leave, and she does, dimming the lights slightly. Blaine looks exhausted, dark shadows ringing his eyes. You feel a stab of guilt as you notice the faint bruises on his collarbone, from your bully. Ignoring the dull ache in your head and ankle, you shuffle sideways, gesturing for him to lie down next to you. Blushing slightly, he does, a soft sigh of relief escaping him. You yawn, and as your eyes slip closed, he begins to hum softly. It takes you several seconds to recognise the song. Teenage Dream. You feel safe, safer than you have for the entire week, knowing that Blaine's comforting presence is inches from your own. The next day, and the day after that, you'll have to explain. A lot. But tonight you can sleep, no pain, no fear, no aching sense of abandonment. Slowly, you fall asleep. And it's ok.

One week.

It started with heartbreak and loneliness. It ended in hospital.

But it's ok, because you're not really alone.

Not anymore.

**The End**


End file.
